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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443963">Mechanic, Meet Doctor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndomesticatedEquines/pseuds/UndomesticatedEquines'>UndomesticatedEquines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kyle is a Good Bro [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon compliant to end of S2, Descriptions of canonical violence, I just want them all to be friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Michael is in a hospital and does not like it, Not Beta Read, POV Michael Guerin, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:40:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,422</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndomesticatedEquines/pseuds/UndomesticatedEquines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael didn’t like Kyle Valenti. He didn’t. But he owed him a debt, so he was paying it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Guerin &amp; Kyle Valenti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kyle is a Good Bro [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part two. If you didn't read part one, the TL;DR needed is that Michael fixed up the medical equipment Max blew up and, because he's a genius, accidentally made an innovation on the ultrasound. Kyle went to Isobel for help convincing Michael to patent it. </p>
<p>Michael is in a hospital and it does bring up lots of his well-warranted fears of doctors and medical procedures. Mentions of when Noah stabbed Michael, brief mention of Caulfield, and other canonical violence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael didn’t like Kyle Valenti. He didn’t. Even though the other man had consistently dropped everything whenever he or his family needed medical attention. Even though he had refused to tell Jesse Manes or anyone, really, who gave Liz the handprint. Even though he had been there for Alex recently, certainly more than Michael himself had been. Even though he had risked his job several times: borrowing medical equipment, keeping Jesse Manes in a coma, hiding bloodwork for Maria and Rosa. Even though he had started being there for Michael as a – he mentally stuttered over the word <em>friend</em>—but as a person who he talked with, even if it was only because Michael needed a buffer to keep him from doing anything stupid when trying to hang out with Alex.</p>
<p>The problem was that everything Valenti did was tainted by guilt. His goal wasn’t to help Michael or his family; it was to atone for his father’s sins. He wasn’t being a good friend to Alex; he was trying to make up for being such a raging asshole in high school. Even his motives for resurrecting Max had been very Liz-centric.</p>
<p>Michael didn’t have a problem with the idea of atonement. But nothing Jim Valenti had done was Kyle’s fault, just like nothing Jesse Manes had done was Alex’s fault. It wasn’t Michael’s fault that Rosa had died, that Max had killed the drifter. No, his sins came after. Burying the bodies, covering up the murders. Ensuring they didn’t ask questions, didn’t look too closely. As a result, his sister married a homicidal sociopath who violated her mind, and a dozen other people had died. He had pushed away, consistently, the one person he loved outside his family. Hell, he’d pushed away his family. No. Atoning for other peoples’ sins just covered up your own.</p>
<p>Kyle Valenti’s sins were Alex-shaped. Kyle hadn’t just been such a raging dick to Alex that Alex had thrown punches, no. He had been Alex’s friend before he abandoned him. When Alex really needed him, when things were getting bad at home, Valenti hadn’t just left, he’d been horrible to Alex. And what, Valenti got to just leave Roswell, become a hotshot doctor, and come back and help everyone? And Alex forgave him. Just like that.</p>
<p>Maybe the reason Michael disliked Valenti so much was that he reminded him what he could have done. Could have been. And how much worse his betrayals of Alex had been.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, he owed the man a debt, of that there was no doubt. That was why he’d fixed up the medical equipment. That was why he was at the hospital, a place he never wanted to be, surrounded by people in white lab coats and casual discussions of meds and dosages and all the things Michael heard from scientists wielding scalpels in his nightmares.</p>
<p>Isobel had told him the medical equipment had been missing long enough that it needed evaluation by mechanics licensed specifically in that equipment, especially given the different coverings. She’d said that it would expensive for the hospital, regardless of whether or not they worked. That the only way Valenti would be able to keep his job, then, would be to get the credit of bringing in the patent for the ultrasound. The hospital could get the prestige, and that would bring grants and press. But since it was Michael’s innovation, he still had to file it in his name. She’d gotten the hospital to handle the filing and legal fees, but that meant doing the paperwork at the hospital. With the hospital’s lawyer.</p>
<p>Michael didn’t want to bring that kind of attention onto himself. He’d spoken with lawyers before, obviously, mostly Noah, may he rest in pieces, but it was a different kind of attention. Noah had given him the kind of attention expected from the suitor, and later husband, of a family member trying to get brownie points. The other lawyers, well, they’d looked at his charges, all minor theft and drunk and disorderlies, and dismissed him as yet another petty criminal or drunk. This was a different kind of attention. People wouldn’t dismiss him for this, out of sight, out of mind. They’d look into him. They’d ask questions.</p>
<p>Michael had spent a lifetime avoiding questions. He was not keen to break that streak. Too many people already knew, already looked.</p>
<p>Combine that with his fear of hospitals, and well, he was proud he’d made it this far. It was Isobel’s voice ringing in his head, that they needed Valenti’s help, that they owed him, and his own cognizance of that fact, that kept him going. He had tried to take as direct a route as possible, but the room numbers didn’t quite go sequentially. Some were taped over. Where the legal office should have been was an empty room with construction equipment and tarps. So he kept wandering, regulating his breathing more and more.</p>
<p>He was almost relieved when Valenti ran into him.</p>
<p>“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Valenti asked. He was smiling, holding himself with a confidence and ease Michael didn’t see from him when discussing alien matters.</p>
<p>“Trying to find Room 234,” Michael said. “Can’t file a patent through a hospital without the hospital lawyer.” He knew he failed to keep the bite out of his words when Valenti frowned. Hopefully the man just read it as bitterness and not nerves.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, legal was by the research wing, but after the shooting and the fire, they got temporarily moved while things were shut down. When we got everything cleaned up, they decided they wanted a remodel. Decided to renumber the rooms instead of change the letterheads. I’ve got to tell you, it has pissed off many a patient with legal questions.” While he talked, the doctor led the way through the halls, smiling and nodding at people who responded with a genuine warmth that Michael found off-putting.</p>
<p>When they reached the room, Michael looked at the door with distrust.</p>
<p>“You OK?” Valenti asked. “Cynthia’s nice; she’s not going to bite your head off or anything.”</p>
<p>“Or stab me in the neck so I bleed out on my brother’s floor?” Michael tried for a laugh. It didn’t work.</p>
<p>“Wait, what?”</p>
<p>Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. Michael was pretty sure no one knew what had happened between him and Noah except Max. He needed to get himself under control, and reliving that night wasn’t going to help. Deflecting might, though. “The night Noah died. Not the worst part of that night, though, am I right? Makes everything else seem small.” He gave a wry grin.</p>
<p>Valenti didn’t smile back, though. If anything, he looked panicked. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“What happ—what do you want me to say, Valenti?” Michael’s terror had kept track of everyone near them, and he knew they were alone. He kept his voice quiet out of habit, but he couldn’t stop the force of it. “I got stabbed. With a broken syringe. I think I might’ve died. And Max…” he laughed, a short, charged sound. “He saved me. Because of course he did. I’d just thrown him through a wall, too.” Valenti was still staring, wide-eyed. Michael dug his nails into his palms. “Like I said, not the most important thing to happen that night. I mean, I had to telekinetically untangle Max’s intestines after the fight with Noah. And that, horrible as that was for everyone involved, it barely rates a footnote for that night.” He looked Valenti in the eye, knowing this next part would sting. “Or that <em>day</em>.” Michael knew bringing up Jim Valenti’s involvement in Caulfield was a low blow, but his brain was so focused on the hospital and the lawyer that it wasn’t helping out in other areas. He needed to end this conversation.</p>
<p>Valenti flinched, just as Michael’d known he would, and he braced for the outburst. “I know what you mean,” Valenti said softly, instead. He slouched, confident demeanor leaving him. “I never thought getting shot and putting the man who shot me into a medically-induced coma would be anything other than the most noteworthy thing that ever happened to me. But my father was murdered, and involved in all kinds of human rights violations, and with all the <em>death</em> that day…” Valenti sounded broken. “I know what you mean.”</p>
<p>Michael’s brain was having trouble resetting from the fight he’d been pushing for. “Jesse Manes shot you?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Now it was Valenti’s turn for a wry grin. “Thought I was being paranoid, thinking someone was following me. Tried to buy a gun. Bought a vest instead. Good thing I did, as it turns out.” He sighed. “I wonder how he would’ve made it look. Mugging gone wrong? There’s no way my mom wouldn’t have looked into it. But he got away with everything else, I’m sure he would’ve gotten away with that, too.”</p>
<p>The bitterness in Kyle’s voice finally broke though Michael’s hospital- and lawyer-induced panic. He stared at Valenti for a few moments, thinking. All the things Michael had imagined doing to Jesse Manes, and it was Kyle Valenti who had hit first. Who had seen a hurt done to his family, done to him, and done something about it. Who had very purposefully found a nonlethal way to fight back, and followed though. It hadn’t changed what happened after—Jesse had been pushed back, not stopped—but it did say something about the man who had done it. Michael had spent his life taking hits so the people he loved wouldn’t have to, but Valenti had tried to stop the hits.</p>
<p>“I’m glad he’s dead,” Valenti said, dragging his thoughts away. “I know that’s horrible to say, and I know Alex is still trying to sort through his feelings about it all. It doesn’t bring my dad back, doesn’t feel like justice. But it feels… safer.”</p>
<p>“I know what you mean,” Michael said, echoing his earlier words. He certainly slept better with Jesse Manes in the ground.</p>
<p>The PA requested Dr. Valenti’s presence in the OR, and Kyle excused himself. As he walked away, the rush of the hospital came flooding back to Michael, the knowledge that he was about to bring scrutiny down on himself. He sniffed, scrunching his nose, and walked into the room to face a lawyer and save a doctor’s career. He owed him that much.</p>
<p>He refused to consider owing him anything else.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Michael freaks out when the hospital gets busy and ends up in a room with a small child.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patent filing was not as quick a process as Michael wanted it to be, and it required follow-ups. So he found himself walking through the hospital halls a few times in the same week, more hospital time than he’d ever wanted. He did end up seeing Valenti a little more in his natural habitat, though, and that was a new sight.</p>
<p>Michael avoided the surgery viewing rooms like the plague, but he watched Valenti through other windows. The doctor talked to patients and families alike, his demeanor radiating calm and reassurance. He’d seen Doctor Mode before on Valenti, but it was always on alien matters, when he had no answers. Here, he spoke of surgical options like he’d spent years studying them, not spare nights and weekends, trying to catch up, trying not to show his freak out whenever Max’s hand glowed or a test tube flew seemingly on its own. His calm presence almost helped Michael ignore the antiseptic smell and the lab coats, which frustrated Michael to no end.</p>
<p>After his last appointment, Michael tried to leave by his normal route, but there were gurneys in the hallway and raised voices. Doctors requested bloodwork and tests, orderlies ran by with intubation tubes and bags of blood, and Michael’s forced calm started to evaporate. The lawyer had been brisk, hadn’t looked too hard at him, but he could feel that worry seeping back up. <em>Too much attention, and it’s you strapped to one of those tables. But they won’t be trying to save you. No, they’ll be trying to “save the human race” by cutting you open, just like they did your mother. You’ll die after decades of isolation and torture, and the only hope left to you will be that Max and Isobel don’t come after you. That they escape it.</em></p>
<p>He ducked into a room, any room, to get away from it. He started breathing slowly, just like Alex had taught him all those years ago. And damn if the thought of Alex wasn’t enough to make him feel safer, even here, even now.</p>
<p>“Hello?”  </p>
<p>Of course there was someone in here. This was a hospital; they didn’t just have spare rooms hanging around. Not on this busy floor. Michael looked around and saw a small boy, eyes wide, cradling his arm and trying not to cry.</p>
<p>“Hey. Didn’t know anyone was in here,” Michael said, trying to calm enough to flee this room now, too.</p>
<p>“It’s OK. It’s loud out there,” said the boy. “But Momma says if I’m good for the doctor, I’ll get a lollipop.”</p>
<p>“Where is your mother?” Michael asked, looking around. This kid was not old enough to be without supervision.</p>
<p>“She went to get the doctor. Said she made a big en-dow-ment to the hospital, she should get taken care of fast.”</p>
<p>Michael didn’t miss the implied wealth or priority list. “What happened to you?”</p>
<p>“Nicky Salvatino pushed me off the jungle gym. He said, he said my glasses looked funny,” the boy said, shrinking back a little.</p>
<p>Michael looked. There were glasses, and judging by the refraction through them, an impressive prescription for a child that age. “They look fine to me,” Michael said.</p>
<p>“Really?” The hope in the boy’s voice broke Michael’s heart.</p>
<p>“Really,” he said. “I’m Michael.”</p>
<p>“My name is Peter,” said the boy.</p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you, Peter.”</p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you, Michael.” Peter frowned. “My arm really, really hurts.”</p>
<p>“I’ve had a broken arm before,” Michael said. “They’re not fun.” He forced his mind to skip over how his arm had broken, how many times he’d been beaten after for not finishing his chores in time because of it. How that foster mother had watched him like a hawk, convinced he would steal from her, and he wasn’t able to use his telekinesis or drink any acetone. Instead, he made himself remember what helped, which prompted him to pull a few sheets of metal and a pair of long-nose pliers out of his pocket. “Want to learn how to shape metal?”</p>
<p>“Momma says I shouldn’t,” Peter said, then lit up. “Can we make a Dory?”</p>
<p>Michael smiled, his panic earlier fading under Peter’s earnest eyes, the solidness of the metal, and the force of his hands.</p>
<p>They were interrupted by the door opening and Valenti’s voice saying, “—course I’m happy to give a consult, but I’m a surgeon, ma’am. Bone setting is not my specialty, and we’re a little busy right now, he’ll have to wait for—”</p>
<p>“Who the hell are you?” The woman—Peter’s mother, Michael assumed—all but yelled at him.</p>
<p>“Michael Guerin, ma’am,” he said, feeling himself shrink back at her tone. She reminded him of another one of his foster mothers. That one had found every ounce of Michael’s appearance unsatisfactory, slovenly. She had demanded better of him lest it reflect poorly on her.</p>
<p>“What is in your hands?” she exclaimed.</p>
<p>He looked down. It was a passable rendition of Dory from <em>Finding Nemo</em>, he thought, but that clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for. He found himself shrinking more, and he hated himself for it.</p>
<p>“Mr. Guerin is a friend of the hospital,” Valenti chimed in, voice calm and certain. “I’m sure he was keeping your son company while waiting for treatment. Wouldn’t want a child of his age to be sitting alone with a broken arm, would we?” He paused a moment, long enough for the message to sink in with the mother. “It would reflect poorly on the hospital. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ll find the doctor best suited for your son’s needs.” He gestured to Michael and reopened the door.</p>
<p>Michael handed the Dory to Peter, said “I’m sure you’ll get that lollipop,” and fled at as slow a pace he could. When the door closed, though, he turned on Valenti. “I didn’t need you to lie for me in there.”</p>
<p>Valenti still had Doctor Face on. “None of what I said was a lie. You are a friend of the hospital, with the prestige you’re giving us. And that kid should not have been left alone. Certainly not with a broken arm.” Michael tried to cut in, but Valenti continued. “Thank you for helping him.”</p>
<p>Michael froze. Sincere thanks were new to him. Sometimes a desperate car or tractor owner gave them, but those were always for his work, not his actions.</p>
<p>“How did it go with the lawyer?” Valenti asked.</p>
<p>Michael hadn’t noticed when they started walking, but they were walking. “Fine. Paperwork’s all filed.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. It’ll help a lot of lives,” said Valenti.  </p>
<p>Michael flinched. It’d help a lot of lives except possibly Michael’s family, if it brought the wrong kind of attention. Them, it could hurt. He remembered Isobel, though, telling him it was worth the risk to keep access to hospital resources. He tried to remember the last time he thought his genius would help him instead of hurt his family. It was probably before Rosa had died. When he still thought he could get out. When he still thought there <em>was</em> an out.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Valenti said, stopping by the entrance. “That kid OK?”</p>
<p>“Broken arm.”</p>
<p>“No, I mean…” He looked around at the chaos that was the ER, probably gauging how much time he had for Michael. “We both know that woman was more interested in appearances than the health of her son. Do you think she hurt him?”</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>. Michael looked at Valenti. The doctor seemed earnest, concerned, determined. He had a steadiness in his eyes that said he would fight if he needed to. Michael wondered where that had been when Alex was being beaten. When <em>Kyle</em> had hit Alex.</p>
<p>He wondered if Jesse Manes had seen it before he fell into his coma.</p>
<p>Valenti pressed. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t want to miss the signs again.”</p>
<p>Again? Did Kyle… did he not know? Could he not see it in the way Alex had flinched at loud, harsh words? The way he’d occasionally come to school limping? Could he not read it in every look? Every time he’d avoided going straight home, but adamantly kept to his curfew?</p>
<p>Did Kyle really not <em>know</em>?</p>
<p>“He said it was a kid on the playground.”</p>
<p>“Any reason to think he was lying?”</p>
<p>Michael shook his head, still a little confused. “He was looking forward to a lollipop, not dreading a beating. He spoke calmly and openly; he wasn’t daring someone to ask why he was hurt or avoiding the conversation.”</p>
<p>“So if he was more worried, or quieter, or combative, those would’ve been red flags?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Valenti was silent a moment. “You were a little combative, there, when we left the room.”</p>
<p>Michael grinned wryly at him. “That’s my thing.”</p>
<p>Kyle was silent a moment more. “I’m sorry,” he said.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your pity,” Michael said, feeling himself get angry again.</p>
<p>Valenti looked like he was about to say more, but Michael was saved by the doctor being summoned back to the OR. “I’m glad you and Alex could help each other,” he said, leaving. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”</p>
<p>Michael stomped away from the entrance. Valenti didn’t know anything. He hadn’t helped Alex. He’d hurt him. So many times, in so many different ways. And Kyle’s guilt didn’t help anything. It didn’t change what happened. What right did he have to even speak to him about this?</p>
<p>But, Michael admitted to himself as he started his truck, breathing carefully, maybe it did change what the doctor would do moving forward. He thought back to how many of his foster siblings had been brought back from the hospital. How many times Child Protective Services had believed the lies of the foster parents. How one person asking the right questions could’ve changed things. Could change things now.</p>
<p>People didn’t just help each other for no reason, regardless of what Alex thought. But if the kids weren’t the ones paying for it, did the reason really matter?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dammit. It was getting harder to hate Kyle Valenti.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really just want them all to be friends. To do that, they need to communicate. Crazy, right? And Kyle deserves to have a light shown on how he's learned from his mistakes, and his good deeds besides those that effect the other characters.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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